The Woman from Paris Read online

  “I suspect she’ll be back soon. I wouldn’t worry. In my experience, no news is good news.”

  “Well, that’s certainly true. I think—” At that moment the lights of a car flashed in through the window. “Oh good, that must be her now.” Rosamunde got up and hurried into the hall, feeling greatly relieved. Harris went ahead to open the door. However, it wasn’t Antoinette who climbed the steps with such haste, but Margaret.

  “Good evening, Lady Frampton,” said Harris, not looking at all surprised.

  Margaret gave a snort. “Where’s Antoinette?” she demanded.

  Rosamunde looked anxiously past her for her sister’s car. “She’s not here,” she replied, perplexed.

  “Her car is outside the church, but she’s nowhere to be seen. I thought she might have walked back, forgetting that she had left her car on the verge. You know, grief can do funny things to the mind. I hate to drive, as you know, but I felt compelled to come over and find out what the devil is going on.”

  “She went to lay flowers on George’s grave . . .”

  “What’s the good of that? He’s not going to see them.” She marched through the hall and into the drawing room. “Will you bring me a glass of sherry, Harris. Ah, good, the fire is lit. Well, that’s something, at least.”

  Rosamunde did not relish the prospect of sitting alone with her sister’s strident mother-in-law, especially as she wasn’t able to tell her where Antoinette was. Rosamunde liked to be in the know about things. Margaret sat down in the armchair. “I want to talk to her about this girl.”

  “You mean Phaedra,” Rosamunde replied, pleased that she knew all about her.

  “I hear she’s coming to stay the weekend?”

  “Yes, Antoinette invited her.”

  “No one told me about it. Was I to be kept in the dark?”

  “I’m sure she was going to tell you. She telephoned Joshua and Tom. Of course David knew because it was he who drove up to London to invite her and they had dinner.”

  “I had to hear it from Roberta. She wants to borrow the Frampton Sapphires for a charity ball at Buckingham Palace in the presence of the Prince of Wales and the Duchess of Cornwall. Lovely to think of them being worn in such splendid company. Antoinette has never cared for jewelry, but Roberta loves to sparkle, and I must say she does look very fine in them.” Rosamunde realized that Roberta had failed to tell her that Phaedra had been left those precious family jewels. Margaret sniffed her annoyance. “At least there’s someone in the family prepared to fill me in with the goings-on down here.”

  Harris entered with a tray holding two glasses of sherry and a bowl of pistachio nuts. “Where do you think she’s gone?” Margaret asked.

  “I imagine she’s found a friend and is having a drink,” said Rosamunde, determined not to show how worried she was.

  Margaret looked at her watch. “Well, I have nothing else to do, so I’ll wait.” She sipped her sherry and watched Rosamunde through hooded eyes. Rosamunde sipped hers and stared back. It seemed a long while before the sound of Antoinette’s car was at last heard on the gravel outside.

  “Ah, good,” Margaret sighed. “Now she can tell us where she’s been.”

  Rosamunde smiled knowingly. “Or not. I’m sure she’ll feel no compulsion to tell us anything.”

  7

  Margaret and Rosamunde remained in the drawing room as Harris opened the door and Antoinette hastened into the hall. They listened as she patted her dogs and exchanged a few words with the butler. Then she appeared in the doorway suppressing a smile, because there in the armchair was the Dowager Lady Frampton, whom she had gone to such great lengths to avoid.

  “Well, you look like the cat that’s got the cream,” said Margaret. “Where have you been? I saw your car parked outside the church, but you were nowhere to be seen.”

  “I assumed you’d found a friend and gone to have a drink,” Rosamunde added, not to be outdone.

  “I went to see Dr. Heyworth,” Antoinette replied casually, taking a seat beside her sister on the sofa.

  “Are you ill?” Margaret asked.

  “No, it was a social call.”

  Margaret raised her eyebrows. “A social call? With Dr. Heyworth?”

  “Yes.” Antoinette was not prepared to disclose any more than that, although it was clear that Margaret expected something of an explanation. There followed a lengthy silence, but Antoinette did not rush to fill it.

  “We’ve been waiting for you to come home,” said Margaret.

  “If I’d known you were coming, I would have made sure I was back in time,” Antoinette replied. “Perhaps you should call next time.”

  “I’ve just been talking to Rosamunde about that girl coming to stay the weekend,” Margaret began.

  “Phaedra,” said Rosamunde.

  “Roberta told me,” Margaret added, then inhaled through her nostrils to show that she resented being informed by her grandson’s wife.

  “I told Margaret you were going to tell her—” Rosamunde began, but Antoinette cut her off briskly.

  “I most certainly wasn’t, Rosamunde.” She turned to her mother-in-law. “You made it very clear that you didn’t want anything to do with her, Margaret, and I took you at your word.”

  For a moment Margaret didn’t know what to say. She took a long sip of sherry before replying. “You’re right, I don’t want anything to do with her, but if she is my son’s daughter, I think I should at least meet her.”

  Antoinette’s heart sank at the thought of Margaret and Roberta cornering Phaedra. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m anxious for her stay to be pleasant.”

  “Oh, I insist. I have many questions I wish to ask her.”

  “I don’t think it’s fair to launch an inquisition.”

  “I’m not going to launch an inquisition, Antoinette. I’m sure you’re as curious as I am. It’s very distressing to think of George keeping such a secret. We need answers.”

  “I don’t need any answers at all,” said Antoinette, just to be contrary. “I only want to get to know my stepdaughter. If, in time, she chooses to share things with me, I’ll be happy to listen. But I’m not going to pin her against a wall and demand answers.”

  Margaret’s face hardened, and she narrowed her eyes. “My son has left her a fortune in his will—an income which ensures that she never has to work again . . .”

  “And the Frampton Sapphires,” Antoinette added. “Don’t forget them.”

  Margaret nearly spilled her sherry. “What did you say?”

  “The Frampton Sapphires. George left them to Phaedra.”

  “He can’t have done! Are you certain? Those jewels must stay in the family!”

  “Phaedra is family,” Antoinette insisted.

  “I don’t believe it!” The old lady’s face reddened to the color of a beetroot.

  “It’s true, Margaret. Roberta’s very upset about it.”

  “I should think so! George was going to leave them to David.”

  “Roberta was under the impression that he was going to leave them to Joshua,” said Antoinette.

  “Rubbish!” Margaret snapped. “They go to the eldest son: everyone knows that. Roberta likes to borrow them, which is perfectly fine, but there’s no question of their being given to anyone but David.”

  “Well, he’s left them to Phaedra.”

  “It’s outrageous. I wonder why Roberta never mentioned it to me. We had a long talk this morning.”

  “I don’t suppose she mentioned her appalling behavior at the reading of the will, either?”

  Margaret frowned. “No, she didn’t mention that.”

  “She behaved very badly, Margaret. I was embarrassed.”

  The old lady drained her glass and put it down on the sofa table beside her chair. She suddenly looked defeated. “What was George thinking?”

  Antoinette couldn’t answer that. She didn’t know, either.

  “Oh dear, how are you going to prevent Margaret from muscling in
this weekend?” Rosamunde asked once she had gone.

  “I don’t think I can. She’s never waited for an invitation to come here, but barges in whenever she feels like it. I’m afraid there’s no keeping her away. Phaedra will just have to deal with it.”

  “Well, the girl has nothing to hide. It’s all out in the open now, isn’t it?”

  “Exactly. Perhaps she’ll want to share the details of how she found him and how they built their relationship after so many years. We’re probably fussing about nothing.”

  Rosamunde grinned. “Margaret is the girl’s grandmother.”

  “Poor child. One can’t pick one’s relations.”

  “I bet she didn’t anticipate her when she went in search of her father.”

  “Goodness no, one simply couldn’t conjure up a woman like Margaret, even if one strained one’s imagination.”

  “Oh, I don’t think one has to strain one’s imagination too much. It’s all there in folklore and fiction: The Wizard of Oz, Cinderella, 101 Dalmatians, Hansel and Gretel, to name just a few.”

  “You are wicked,” Antoinette laughed.

  “Oh yes, there are Margarets everywhere,” said Rosamunde.

  * * *

  On Friday morning Phaedra packed her weekend bag with some trepidation. She laid a light floral dress on the bed and teamed it up with a pair of scarlet pumps and black tights, in case she needed to be elegant on Saturday night. She wasn’t exactly sure what was expected, never having been to stay in a grand English country house before. She rummaged through the suitcase she had already packed for her return to Paris and pulled out a bright-green cardigan, black lace-up ankle boots, a flowery blouse, and burgundy woolen tights. She suspected her attire would be unsuitable, but she had nothing of the country tweeds and corduroy she’d seen in magazines and movies.

  Since meeting David she felt somewhat reassured. She imagined the rest of his family must be as nice as him. Antoinette had sounded very warm on the telephone, quite different from the woman she had encountered at the funeral. But that wasn’t a surprise; Phaedra had just hit her with the most terrible revelation at the worst possible time. She still cringed at the thought. It would be nice to meet them under less stressful circumstances.

  However, she hoped no one would bring up the subject of George’s will. It was incredibly embarrassing that he had given her so much, not to mention the Frampton Sapphires. When Julius had informed her they were now hers, she had nearly fainted with shame, for she knew why he had given them to her, and she didn’t want them. Besides the fact that she wasn’t the type to wear jewelry, they were somehow tainted, wrapped as they were in guilt. Had he really thought it through, she was sure he would never have been so impulsive.

  Julius had told her that the sapphires had been bought in India by the first Lord Frampton, who was governor general in 1838, and handed down from generation to generation. There was a large portrait of his wife, Theodora, the first Lady Frampton, in the hall at Fairfield Park, dazzling in the exquisitely crafted diamond and sapphire necklace, earrings, and bracelet. Julius had gone quite puce in the face when he had described them. Phaedra didn’t care much for jewelry but Julius had insisted that no woman, however modest, could resist them.

  That evening she heaved her bag onto the backseat of her car and drove west out of London, stopping at a boutique on the King’s Road to buy Antoinette a small present. There was a lot of traffic on the Talgarth Road, but she listened to Capital Radio and soon she was driving down the M3, her small Fiat cruising smoothly at 70 miles per hour.

  The skies were heavy with thick gray clouds, but to the west, where the sun was setting, the golden light was shining through and turning them pink. She began to get nervous when she came off the motorway and headed into the countryside. The hedgerows were already beginning to bud, and a green smoke appeared to be wafting through the woodlands as the branches revealed their first lime-colored leaves. Spring had lifted the land out of the bleak brownness of winter and breathed new life onto the fields, turning them a lively, phosphorescent green. She took pleasure in the little birds that darted in and out of the hedges, and opened the window to expel the city pollution from her lungs and inhale the fresh, clean air. She felt uplifted in spite of her apprehension.

  At last she drove through the old market town of Fairfield. The high street was very wide and lined with cherry trees, yet to flower. She motored up the hill, admiring the color-washed rainbow of Georgian houses and little shops that she had been too nervous to notice when she came for the funeral. It was like stepping back in time to another age, and if it hadn’t been for the cars parked beneath the fruit trees, she could have imagined what it must have been like two hundred years before, when King George sat on the throne.

  She slowed down when she drove past the church. Somewhere in that yard George lay buried, and for a moment she felt the urge to park the car and go and find his grave. But she didn’t want to be late, and it was already seven o’clock. So she drove on and up the narrow lane that led to Fairfield Park, situated a mile outside the town. She shuddered as she motored past the little white cottages and through the iron gates, remembering the last time she had been there and how desperate she was to leave. She recalled how she had vowed never to return, but here she was now, once again making her way up the drive beneath the plane trees.

  Harris heard the car on the gravel and walked hastily to the drawing room to inform Lady Frampton. Antoinette hurried out into the hall with David, while Joshua and Roberta remained on the sofas with Rosamunde. Tom hadn’t yet arrived, which wasn’t unusual. As Antoinette prepared herself in the hall, anxious for everything to go smoothly and for Phaedra to like her, Roberta swept across the room to sneak a peek through the curtains. She saw the car draw up and halt. She saw the girl inside turn off the engine and open the door. Then she saw Phaedra climb out, and her body stiffened with jealousy, for even in the semidarkness she could see that the young woman was a beauty. Roberta withdrew as if the curtain had scalded her.

  Harris descended the steps to help Phaedra with her suitcase. David followed after, a wide smile swallowing up his face. When Phaedra saw him, her shoulders relaxed, and she smiled back gratefully. He said he’d look after her, and he’d been true to his word. She felt a warm sense of relief just seeing him there.

  “You got here in good time,” he said, bending down to kiss her cheek.

  “There wasn’t much traffic. It was fine.”

  He could tell she was nervous. “I thought you’d prefer to stay in my cottage,” he whispered in her ear. “Then you can leave when my family gets too much.”

  She laughed, pleasantly surprised. “Was that your idea?”

  “No, Mother’s actually.”

  “That’s very thoughtful of her. May we go now?”

  He looked at her askance. “That’s a joke, right?”

  “Only half.”

  He put his hand on the small of her back and led her up the steps. “Don’t worry, they don’t bite. And the one who does isn’t here,” he added, referring to his grandmother.

  Antoinette was at the top of the steps, ready to welcome her. “Phaedra, I’m so pleased you agreed to come.”

  “Hello, Lady Frampton.”

  “Please, call me Antoinette. You’re my stepdaughter, after all.” She smiled warmly, and Phaedra’s fears began to slip away. “Don’t mind the dogs, they’re very friendly.”

  “They’re big, aren’t they? I suppose they must eat you out of house and home.”

  “They don’t eat as much as you’d imagine. Come on in. The others are in the drawing room. Tom hasn’t arrived yet, but that’s no surprise; he’s never on time for anything.”

  Phaedra followed Antoinette through the hall. It looked so much larger now that it wasn’t full of people. A big fire danced boisterously in the grate, beneath a large black canopy to catch the smoke. She inhaled the smell of burning logs and sighed with pleasure; there was something very comforting about that woody scent. S
he stepped over the Persian rugs, noticing everything, from the vast display of lilies on the hall table to the line of silver trophies on the mantelpiece above the fire, presumably George’s. This was his home, his family, his intimate life—and she had never been a part of any of it.

  As she walked through to the drawing room, the big portrait of Theodora caught her attention. It hung at the bottom of the stairs where the light from the hall seemed to catch the sapphires and diamonds around her neck and on her ears and wrist, making them glitter as if they were real. Quite apart from the serene beauty of the woman, the Frampton suite blazed with a magnificence of its own. Phaedra didn’t have time to linger, but Julius had been right; no woman, however modest, could fail to be impressed by them.

  She walked into the drawing room, where Rosamunde and Joshua stood to greet her. “Technically, we’ve met before,” said Rosamunde. “But I don’t count that.” She extended her hand. “I’m Rosamunde, Antoinette’s sister.”

  “Yes, hello again.” Phaedra shook her hand, relieved to see that the rather severe-looking woman she had met in the library was quite friendly when she smiled.

  “This is Josh,” said Antoinette, then she introduced Roberta, and there was nothing in her demeanor to suggest that she wasn’t entirely fond of her daughter-in-law.

  Phaedra shook Joshua’s hand; unlike his older brother’s, it was as soft and bland as dough. His features were pleasant enough; in fact, he should have been very handsome, but there was no character in his face to give it the individuality and strength that David’s possessed. He had something of the lame duck about him, a slight stoop of the shoulders and a detachment in the eyes, as if he had willfully disengaged. She was surprised by his wife’s coolness. She remained solemn, her sharp jaw taut, looking down at Phaedra with an imperious gaze, making Phaedra feel small in every way.

  Just as Roberta was about to speak, David stepped in to rescue her. “Let’s sit down,” he suggested. There was a moment of awkwardness as David moved his hand towards the small of her back to direct her to the sofa. Thinking better of it, he pulled away at the last moment. “Harris will get you a drink,” he said, putting his errant hand in his pocket. “What would you like?”